


Hold Your Breath and Count to Ten

by dedougal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Musicians, Not werewolfs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 08:46:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time he slithered his way inside a sousaphone, he was six and it was bigger than he was. And Stiles was happy as the backbone of the school marching band. Until they got a new conductor: Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold Your Breath and Count to Ten

**Author's Note:**

> Mega blame and thanks to comedicdrama who wanted a musician au and kept me right on a lot of the music terminology. For example, lips go into a sousaphone mouthpiece and not around. Although you can bet Stiles has managed to do that too. Ahem. 
> 
> I also changed my username a little for personal reasons.

The first time he slithered his way inside a sousaphone, he was six and it was bigger than he was. The instrument was his cousin's but it used to belong to his mom and Stiles swore he was going to learn to play it one day. But right now he was more interested in how cool it looked. It made playing the instrument interesting too. There’s this moment after he hoists it to his shoulder where he always thinks of his mom in the photograph that still hangs in the hallway. His dad is grinning next to her, still in his football uniform, black under his eyes. His mom is in a uniform that's really not that different from the one he's wearing.

Stiles patted at the white curve around his waist and settled in to wait. Waiting seemed to be as much part of band as actually playing. They have to wait for everyone to get there, to get their instruments ready. They have to wait for Finstock to get his act together and order them to line up. That seems to take longer than it should. Finstock has been here forever or his special brand of crazed ranting probably would have had him locked up long ago.

Finstock wasn't alone when he came out of the school, ambled across the pitch. There was a guy with him. A familiar guy. Derek Hale.

Fuck.

Stiles knew, at that point, he was totally screwed.

"Greater things are calling," Finstock was saying when Stiles managed to drag his attention away from Hale's ridiculous stubbled, chiseled jawline. "Derek here used to be able to play the trumpet and march in a straight line. He's going to whip you into shape."

With that, Finstock wandered off to whatever mysterious destiny Stiles had manage to miss hearing about, leaving Derek Hale standing, scowling, in front of twenty high schoolers armed with loud instruments.

Derek cast his eyes over them, snagging on Stiles and his sousaphone for a moment. "Okay. We are going to start with _Washington Post_. See what you can do." And Derek folded his arms, glaring at the assembled ranks.

Lydia counted them in and they're off. Erica was a little enthusiastic on the cymbals as they plough through the old standard and Scott missed a few notes with his slide but it's not entirely awful to Stiles's ears. From the way Derek winced, however, it looks like he wasn't happy. They stumbled through a few of their traditional tunes before Derek called a halt. "Let's see some marching. Boyd."

Stiles swung around to see Boyd getting ready to pound out a steady beat on his enormous drum. He quickly looked forward so he didn’t trip over Suzy Li when they start to move. It's while he was doing that he realized that Derek knew Boyd's name. Derek who'd been out of town for years.

So. Mystery time.

Derek didn’t make them do anything they hadn’t done a million times before, took them through a few basics from Patterns in Motion and watched them with his eyebrows dragged down low on his forehead. That’s the thing that reassured Stiles the most, to be fair. The one key memory he had of Derek Hale involved him being angry and using those eyebrows like storm clouds. It was better than the lost, vulnerable look he’d been wearing in the other memory of Derek that Stiles had, when he’d come across Derek in the woods when Stiles had been in fourth grade or something like that. His memory of that one was kinda fuzzy but he’d swear Derek had been crying.

The other memory was singularly responsible for Stiles knowing what his dick was for.

Scott took his time wrangling his trombone back into its case so he could watch Allison Argent and Lydia chat. Allison joined the band earlier this year as a flautist and Stiles had said three words to her. Scott had said none because every time he was faced with ‘the utter perfection that is Allison Argent, I mean, have you seen her hair’ he went non-verbal. Suddenly Stiles didn’t mind this tardiness because it means he could gape at Derek a little longer and be a little bit subtle about it. 

Derek’s broader than Stiles remembered. He was wearing a leather jacket because it was chilly out here on the field. Stiles had to layer up until April then he peeled off layer of shirt and t-shirt and hoodie until he’d basically be practicing in a wife-beater. He was bundled up warm right now. Which was good because he’s chubbing up a little in his jeans because _Derek_.

Lydia finished up telling Derek everything about the band, probably. She was probably inviting him to one of her legendary, epic parties as well. Stiles doesn’t know how she does it. Being a band geek was only one more nail in his unpopularity coffin. But Lydia used it to boost her status. Stiles had overheard her explaining how her college application was going to be basically literature before she also said that she was learning the clarinet because the oboe would only limit her to orchestra and she needed a more public face. Stiles was equally terrified by her and aroused. He’s confident in his ability to like terrifying, gorgeous people.

Derek’s eyes met his and Stiles stared at the ground for a while. Maybe it’ll open up and swallow him, in defiance of every other time he had wished for just that.

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice was nearer and a pair of worn biker boots shuffled into his line of sight. “Why are you still here?” Derek’s eyebrows were basically a line across his forehead when Stiles looked up. He wondered if he should just start running away right now.

“Scott.” That had been his excuse for almost every scrape he’s ever been in. “And the sousaphone.”

Derek nodded, sharply, and walked off the field, heading for the parking lot while Stiles just watched him go. That was always the way of it. Short, unintelligible, monosyllabic exchanges and then a whole lot of Stiles just kinda wanting. He knew he was screwed and he knows it now. He was _this close_ to being over his crush on Derek Hale and here he was, fucking up Stiles’s life all over again.

 

Stiles started seeing Derek around town, in that ridiculous car of his. He’d thought the Camaro belonged to his sister until he’d ran into Laura and told her theory (also kinda afraid of her. It was a theme with beautiful people. But Laura and he had the same kind of humor which made it a little less intimidating) and she’d laughed at him in the cereal aisle of the store. Laura had bought a little red sporty convertible the next week and gave him a ride in it, top down. Derek had been out of town then, at college, but Laura liked to visit more often. Their parents still lived out in the woods, at the edge of the preserve and Laura did the whole dutiful daughter thing. Derek was obviously a bad seed, that was the only reasonable reason for him and his stupid grumpy face.

The black car suited him, even as he drove past Stiles with the window down, sunglasses firmly perched on his nose and didn’t wave. Stiles waved, okay. It counted even if it’s just his raised middle finger. Derek Hale was, number one, an asshole who was back in town and, like, stalking Stiles.

Stiles nearly spat out his lasagna when his dad told him about who interviewed to be his new deputy. “I think you know him. Or remember him. Derek Hale?”

Oh yeah. Total spit take while his dad laughed at him rather too much. But it just meant he saw Derek when he dropped past the station to deliver food to his dad and Derek was there and it was totally casual and Stiles was… oh, yes he was. He was checking out Derek in his shiny new deputy uniform. None of that, however, helped prepared Stiles for their next practice.

Derek obviously had been making plans. Lots of plans. Maybe Lydia had been filling his head with ideas. Because Derek made them march. He had them turning until Stiles was ready to puke on the goal line because his head was spinning so much. And he didn’t let them play a single note.

Stiles didn’t wait for Scott this time. He wriggled out of the sousaphone and placed it in its case and then took off across the field. “Hey, you.”

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice was kinda weary. “I’ve got to get back to the station.”

“Why’re we not playing anything? We’re a band, right?” Stiles raised his finger to poke Derek in the chest, thought the better of it and just shook it. “I don’t practice my oom-pa-pas just to wander around a field for half the afternoon. I’d join the lacrosse team if I wanted to do that.”

Derek raised one of his eyebrows, infuriatingly. Stiles forced his hand down by his side. He was filled with the righteous power of his anger and he worried that it might turn into that other thing he felt for Derek and that would be world of bad. 

“I want to play, asshole. Maybe you’ve forgotten how.” Stiles finished his rant lamely but he’d said his piece. He threw his hands up in the air and stomped back to his instrument and picked it up. Of course that delay meant he was only getting to his jeep when Derek arrived back with his clipboard of notes and tossed them into the trunk of his car. His eyes just automatically slid to Derek.

Stiles glimpsed a familiar looking black case on the back of the Camaro. "Is that what I think it is? Doesn't look dusty like it's been on the attic." By this point, Stiles was standing by the car.

Derek shot him one of his patented glares, baring his teeth slightly. "I practice.'

"I get it," Stiles sighed. "You just can't take our mangling of Andrew Lloyd Webber. I hear you."

"What?"

"Finstock has this hard on for show tunes. I don't know either, dude." Stiles shrugged and kicked at the tarmac. “It’s not what I’d play but it seems to go down well with the crowds.”

“What would you have the band play? Theme to Star Wars?” Derek leant back against the car, perching on the trunk and being, to Stiles’s mind, unreasonably attractive. “And don’t call me dude.”

Stiles made a face at that. “Star Wars was like the first thing I learned to play. I’m more into the Avengers these days.”

“I’m talking about the score.” Derek tipped his head back and looked up at the sky, revealing a long line of throat, utterly kissable.

“So am I.” Stiles waved at him before tripping on the way back to his car. “Later, _dude_.”

Derek’s grimace was less annoyance and more fond, Stiles decided, as he drove away. He could work with that. It’s only when he got home and into his bedroom and adjusted himself that he realized just how hard he was. Apparently Derek still has the same effect on him he’s always had.

 

The weather was epically shitty the next Tuesday. There was, like, biblical flood warnings in place. Yet they were at school and then they were at practice. But there was no way Stiles and his instrument were getting soaked out there. It was one thing when they were at a game but quite another when there were indoor, warm options. Derek wouldn’t make them march around in this kind of weather. Or would he?

Derek ran into the school but not before he got caught in the rain. It flattened down his gelled hair, making it lie flat against his head. He looked younger, startlingly, less fierce. Not that much less fierce from the way he was scowling.

“We can use the drama room?” Stiles offered. He tried to make it a statement but it was really more of a question because Derek turned his eyes on him. Stiles had a moment of forgetting the rest of the world existed while he tried to work out exactly what color Derek’s eyes were. Hazel was a nice word.

Derek leveled a flat look at the group, his glare diminished by the drop of water hanging off the tip of his nose. He had raindrops on his eyelashes too, making them sparkle. And Stiles had to stop thinking like a romance novel right around now. Derek also had his instrument case in his hand. “Sounds good.”

They ran through their usual brand of sparkly upbeat tunes that they tended to warm the crowd up with. They played at most of the lacrosse games and pep rallies and a couple of whole school events during the year. It wasn’t like they were entertaining millions but this was probably for the best. They played more for the fun of it or, possibly, if you were Lydia, for the college application padding fun of it.

Stiles enjoyed his sousaphone but he wasn’t going to pretend it was anything more than it was. He wasn’t going to make it his career or anything. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do exactly but he knew he wasn’t going to march in a band forever. Maybe he could do something with computers.

Derek played along with them, now and again. Stiles was quite embarrassed to realize just how incapable of looking away from Derek he was. There was this ease, something ineffable that seemed to appear when Derek played, almost like everything else in the world just vanished. He played with something like a smile flirting with his lips and Stiles was definitely, awkwardly, turned on by it. Maybe it was all the pursing, the hollowed cheeks… Then someone would hit a bum notes and Derek would frown and stop playing and Stiles could get his head back in the game.

Derek captured his attention with a tap on the desk. “Talk to me about the musicals.”

There was a groan from the rest of the band. 

“We do a kickass America,” Erica muttered in the face of their displeasure. “I get to shake things.”

Derek’s mouth did that thing where he wasn’t trying to laugh. “Film scores? Anything classical?”

“We did some Led Zepplin once.” Scott tilted his head.

Derek muttered under his breath as he pulled out a series of scores. “We’re going to expand the repertoire. Just a little.” Stiles snagged his and had to stifle a giggle. Derek was just messing with him. He’d gone for the _Superman_ theme.

“DC boy,” Stiles called, as Derek came past to check everyone was organized. Derek raised an eyebrow coolly. He was like the epitome of cool. Stiles laughed at that thought too.

After they’d stumbled through a few times, worked on the opening section in more detail, Derek called a halt. He had this glow around him, for all he was frowning as he collected the sheet music.

Stiles hung back again. He needed to call his dad to come get him and it was shift change time so he’d still be at work. 

“You okay?” Derek asked.

“The jeep doesn’t run in rain like this.” Stiles perched on the desk and swung his legs as Derek fussed. “I’ll get my dad to come get me.”

“I can give you a ride. A lift. In my car.” Derek’s words were rushed and it took Stiles a minute to parse out what Derek was offering.

“Really? Because yeah. That’s be- You don’t mind.” Stiles flung himself back to the floor. He wasn’t being cool about how eager he was to spend some more time with Derek, see the inside of his car, learn more about them. There might have been flailing.

Derek looked up at him, one of those non-smiles hovering over his face. Then he seized his trumpet case and gestured Stiles to walk in front of him. 

 

The car was typical Derek. It was black, sleek, fast and hot. It was a sexy car. Stiles was comfortable enough with himself to admit it. If he drove a car like this instead of his jeep, he would be getting laid left, right and center, rather than languishing in crush with hot, unobtainable guys like Derek Hale. Whose car he was riding in. And whose iPod he was flicking through. 

“You don’t have a whole lot of marching band music on here,” Stiles said, settling on something whose name he had no chance of pronouncing. Soft, mellow, what he’d call jazz flooded out of the speakers. He felt sophisticated, like he should tilt his hat and light up a cigarette (if, you know, his dad didn’t kill for taking up smoking) and sip smoky whiskey.

Derek tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time. “I don’t tend to listen to marching band music, Stiles. I just like to play.”

A sultry voice came in over the speakers and Stiles was aware that this was the type of music you played if you wanted to get laid. And the whole car/sexy music/presence of Derek was certainly starting to make him feel a little hot under the collar. Of his pants.

“I like to play too. I kept thinking I wouldn’t. It was Mom’s thing, you know. I was going to try out for lacrosse -“ Derek shot him a disbelieving glance. “And I would have totally made the team. I have muscles. Somewhere. I’m fast. Lithe. Supple. Flexible.” Stiles emphasized the last words. He was watching Derek closely and noted that Derek was swallowing an awful lot.

“This is your house, right?” Derek pulled up at the curb. Stiles was surprised, although he knew the route between school and home as well as the route between his bed and the fridge. He had just expected it to take longer. The rain was still pouring down, bouncing off the pavement. Cats and dogs had nothing on this – it was totally lion and tiger and bear and wolf territory. Maybe like sabre-tooth tiger, as the noise made conversation impossible in the car for a moment.

“So, um, thanks.” Stiles waved. “You should come in.” He pinned his lips shut as Derek looked over, his eyes unreadable.

“I’ve got a thing,” Derek said. “A family thing, that is. Totally…” Derek drifted off, before forcing his eyes back to the world outside the front window. “I think you should make a break for it now.”

Stiles gathered his stuff, took a deep breath and sprinted for the front door. He was still soaked through by the time he made it. He stood under the shelter of the porch and peeled off his hoodie, his t-shirt rising up, clinging to his skin. 

Derek’s car didn’t pull away until he opened the door and waved, once, to let Derek know he’d be dry and safe.

 

The next Tuesday, Finstock was back with no explanation and made them play _Some Enchanted Evening_ until even Boyd was ready to bash in his head with one of his huge drumsticks. There was just no need. It wasn’t even like they could march to it.

Stiles dropped past the station afterwards, planning on giving them all (Derek) a piece of his mind when he was pulled up short by the crowd of cops standing around Derek’s car. Stiles had no compunction about joining them. He had come to hold Derek’s car in very high esteem, especially after his ride inside. It now starred in some of his more satisfying night time masturbation sessions and Stiles should know satisfying. He practiced enough. 

The car’s windshield was smashed, a spiderweb making the whole thing shimmer weirdly in the street lights. Stiles gawped. He knew Derek was, well, grumpy. And maybe he’d pulled someone over or ticketed them and they were out for revenge. But damaging the guy’s car seemed… wrong. Excessive. Unnecessarily hurtful.

Stiles was also vaguely expecting himself to be grabbed by the shoulder and dragged inside. That generally happened to him around, you know, crime scenes he wasn’t supposed to be at. Normally his dad caught up with him but this time it was Derek, who towed him all of the way through the station until they reached his dad’s office. Which was empty of his dad.

Derek spun him around until he was tumbling backwards onto the sofa that Stiles knew his dad napped on during night shifts. It smelled of feet.

“What the hell are you doing?” Derek’s anger seemed way out of proportion to the fact Stiles had just been standing by, totally innocently.

“Coming to visit my dad.” Stiles tried to lean back and look like he was here by choice. “Where is he?”

“He’s…” Derek spun around, slamming the door. He leaned against it, palms flat, while the blind rattled and shook and settled. “He’s out looking for who smashed my windscreen.”

“Why? I mean. Vandalism is bad, I get that. But it’s your windshield and you’re, like, a cop. And I got pushed into a lot of lockers because my dad was the sheriff. You know.” Stiles watched the way Derek’s shoulders rolled under the thin material of his shirt. Beige didn’t do as much for him as the leather jacket he tended to wear out of uniform but there was still something about a guy in uniform and dress pants.

“It was –“ Derek turned around, visibly calming himself. “Someone dumped an animal carcass – a deer – on the car. There was blood. And a note.” Stiles could almost see Derek remembering the scene, visualizing it again. He was suddenly sorry he’d brought it up. “There was a threat.”

There was a knock on the door and Derek opened it to reveal Stiles’s dad, looking harried. “Stiles is here?” Derek gestured and shuffled out, but not before he shot another glance at Stiles who drew his feet up onto the sofa and wrapped his hands around his knees.

 

His dad insisted on following him home, making sure he was safe in the house before driving off. Stiles wandered through the house, checking doors and windows and the back yard before locking himself in his room with a bag of chips and his laptop.

It wasn’t like he was the one being threatened. It was pretty clear that it was aimed directly at Derek. But the note pinned to the dead Bambi was pretty ambiguous. “The sins of the father will be visited on the son.” It made Stiles laugh, a little, at the whole cheesy villain dialogue. But his dad was apparently interpreting it as a possible threat against him. And so was Derek.

The doorbell rang and Stiles took the baseball bat from the hallway to answer it. He didn’t know what he was expecting but an out of uniform Derek wasn’t it.

“Your dad sent me. He said he didn’t want you to be alone.” Derek pushed past him into the hallway, checking the empty house out.

Stiles locked the door again. “I’m okay.” And he mostly was. He was pretty sure this was just his dad being paranoid. “I’m a big boy.”

Derek turned at that and looked Stiles up and down, in a way Stiles wondered if he could classify as flirtatiously. Then he stopped, drew his eyebrows together, and headed for the living room. He was carrying his trumpet. “I thought we could watch some TV.”

“And you’ve brought your horn because…” Stiles trailed after him, which allowed him the perfect sight of Derek tripping over his own feet and stumbling for balance.

“Practice. Go get your sousaphone.” Derek barked it out, his back to Stiles.

“No.” Stiles waited until Derek turned around. “Say please.” He didn’t know why he was taunting Derek. Maybe it was because Derek was an easy target.

Derek just glared.

Stiles couldn’t take the silence anymore. “Were you brought up by wolves or something?” Then he stomped back through to the hallway, grabbed the instrument and came back to Derek making himself comfortable on the sofa. “And manners never hurt.”

“You haven’t even offered me a drink,” Derek pointed out. “Like a proper host.”

“Because you’re the houseguest everyone wants.” Stiles restrained himself from sticking out his tongue as he attached his mouthpiece. Derek slid a score over to him and Stiles snagged it from his fingertips before it slid off the coffee table. It was handwritten, clearly marked for two instruments. “You know you get computer programs that do this for you.”

Derek, very elegantly, sneered. Stiles, manfully, controlled his urge to flip Derek the bird and settled himself on his knees (not thinking about that, nope) and started to play his way through the music. Derek followed along with him. Stiles recognized the melody soon enough and stopped. “You’ve got me playing Disney!” 

Derek lowered the trumpet from his lips. “Tchaikovsky.”

“Disney. I know it. It’s in _Sleeping Beauty_.” Stiles reckoned he probably should not be in such full throated defense of his knowledge of girly, children’s films. “Dude.”

“It’s from the ballet. By Tchaikovsky.” Derek tapped his fingers over the valves. “Can we start playing again?”

Stiles thought that ballet music was probably worse than Disney but he shrugged. It wasn’t like anyone else was ever going to hear him play this anyway. It was kinda pretty. And he got to watch the way Derek’s eyes half closed and the way his fingers danced and Stiles was suddenly hella pleased to be kneeling down and half hidden by the coffee table right about now.

Derek’s smile was still glancing around his mouth when he lowered the trumpet, seemingly satisfied with Stiles’s rendition. Stiles liked the way it felt, the melody bouncing between their instruments. Usually he just held down the bass line, but this arrangement had him taking on the tune and having flourishes and stuff. Derek, naturally, added in all these thrills and trills and for all that a trumpet was like a fog horn on steroids when played a few feet away, it still sounded cool. Plus there was the whole Derek is a sex god package, as he swayed, muscles bunching under his shirt, which was just on the wrong (right) side of too tight. He was so unfair.

Stiles shrugged his way out of his sousaphone and laid it in one of the armchairs. “Want a drink?”

“Yeah. Soda? Juice?” Derek’s attention was on the score rather than Stiles, which suited Stiles right now. He needed to go give himself a stern talking to. Derek could never, ever know that Stiles had this crush the size of the Empire State Building on him. That would only leave to humiliation and avoidance and Stiles was masochist enough to want to be around Derek. Like, a lot.

Stiles was still trying to remind himself of this when he heard Derek start up playing again. He leaned against the kitchen counter and listened. The tune was familiar, something Stiles had heard over and over before. He had no idea what it was called but he hummed along softly under his breath as he grabbed sodas from the refrigerator and, on second thought, glasses from the cabinets. He stuck a bag of M&Ms under his arm and gathered it up.

Derek kept playing as Stiles dumped the stuff on the coffee table and fussed with it. Gingerly, cautiously, breathing carefully, Stiles sat on the sofa next to Derek. Well, his sousaphone was taking up one of the armchairs and the other one belonged to his dad and no one else sat there or there might be thunderbolts from on high or something. Derek stopped playing, muttered thanks and grabbed a soda. 

“I’ve got chips upstairs, for something savory,” Stiles said and bolted off the sofa. When he came back into the room, Derek was fiddling with his spit valve. “What are you doing?”

Derek just looked up. “I’ll clean it up.”

“No. Well, you will. But you won’t. Because you won’t be pouring your gross spit all over my floor.” Stiles dropped the chips on the table and gave Derek as good a glare as the one he received in return.

“It’s just a little spit. I’ve seen you empty yours out at practice.” Derek started to tip the valve. “Who’s going to stop me? You?”

That made something in Stiles snap. He launched himself across the room, wrestling for the shiny piece of metal. There was no way Derek was getting away with this, even though Stiles had done it himself (and kinda let Scott do it too) a thousand times. Derek raised his arm above his head but he was too busy smirking at Stiles to properly defend himself. Stiles was taller than him if not broader and he was also sneaky. He got both of Derek’s wrists pinned and grabbed the valve with his free hand.

It was then that he realized exactly where all that struggling had landed him. In a compromising position, to be perfectly honest. His knees were on either side of Derek’s thighs which meant he was sitting in Derek’s lap, pressing down to keep him in place. His chest was also keeping Derek in place, squashing him down. And Stiles could feel Derek’s breathing, feel his heart beating. Derek broke his hands out of Stiles’s inept grip and wrapped his arms around Stiles, flipping them. Stiles landed on his back with Derek now between his legs, his face within kissing distance. And Derek froze.

 _Don’t get hard. Don’t get hard. Don’t dare._ Stiles chanted to himself as Derek still didn’t move. In fact, Derek seemed to be staring at him, eyes flicking down to look at Stiles’s mouth, follow the path of the moles on his cheek. Derek rocked closer, just a little, before pushing up and away, leaving Stiles feeling exposed and a little cold.

They shuffled around in silence for a moment. “So, TV or Netflix?” Stiles asked, just to break the silence. Derek handed him the remote and immediately retreated to the far end of the sofa, hands wrapped tight around his soda, back ramrod straight.

Stiles turned on the TV. 

 

His dad woke him when he came in, for all he was trying to be quiet. The TV was on low in the background, some bad SciFi movie with over the top accents. Stiles had been vaguely aware of it in his doze. He’d also been vaguely aware of the fact his side was really really warm. Flapping a hand at his dad meant he had to pull his arm away from the warmth. Which was not the couch. It was muscular and covered in relatively cheap polyester.

Stiles opened his eyes fully. He was greeted by the sight of Derek’s knees. His thighs. Because Stiles had his head in Derek’s lap. And the back of his head was probably resting against Derek’s dick judging by the distance. And now he was more awake, he became aware of the fact that Derek’s hand was basically holding him in place, resting on his shoulder, his thumb dipping inside Stiles’s collar. 

Stiles decided the best course of action was to fall off the sofa.

That woke Derek up and there was all kinds of awkward scrambling around until Stiles fled the scene of the crime, heading up to his bedroom and slamming the door. He still leaned against it to hear his dad and Derek’s voices engage in low rumbles of conversation and then he expected to hear the front door close. But it didn’t. Instead he heard two sets of footsteps climbing the stairs and the door to the guest room opening.

Stiles scrambled into his bed and hid his head under the pillow for good measure. The door opened softly.

“Stiles?” His dad shuffled into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. “You want to talk about what happened?”

“I’m in love with Derek, Dad.” Stiles kept his head muffled in the pillow but his dad was pretty much an expert at interpreting his mangled words. He could even understand Stiles when he was eating baby-back ribs.

He felt his dad’s hand rub over his back, just like it had when he was a kid. “I know. But I really wondered how you felt about possible death threats.” His dad sounded like he was torn between laughter and deep, abiding shame.

Stiles worked his hand free and waved at him. “Kinda distracted.”

His dad checked the window, drew the blind and switched the light off.

 

Whatever karma had it in for Stiles, it was either really really in his favor or out to get him. He still wasn’t sure. Derek came out of the bathroom as Stiles came out of his bedroom. Stiles was ready for school. Derek was… Derek had obviously had a shower and Derek was still wet and shirtless and there was a droplet of water rolling slowly down across his pecs and down his fucking perfectly sculpted stomach and following of the path of Derek’s treasure trail down to the towel Derek had clutched around his waist.

“Stiles.” Stiles couldn’t swear to it, but he thought Derek had been trying to get his attention for a while. “Do you have a shirt and a pair of boxers I could borrow?”

Stiles gestured to his underwear drawer before he realized he really didn’t want Derek to have free rein over his stuff because there was stuff that he stereotypically kept in his underwear drawer that Derek really didn’t need to see. The sort of stuff that arrived in brown paper packages and had a nondescript name on his dad’s credit card that Stiles had explained away as gaming stuff. He scuttled back into his room and drew out a pair of boxers and grabbed the first t-shirt he thought would fit Derek. It was one that was too big for him, but when Derek drew it on it was too tight on him. Or, you know, just tight enough.

Derek was wearing his clothes and Stiles had to go to school or he was going to be late and he couldn’t afford another tardy but Derek was _freaking naked_ under that towel and Stiles was just going to have that image in his head all day long.

 

Being as his dad insisted on dropping him off at school, Stiles wasn’t entirely surprised to see Derek, the asshole, leaning against his car when he spilled out of school. Derek wasn’t even watching anyone else. He just stared at Stiles who felt his cheeks burn under the scrutiny. It was as if Derek could read all the dirty thoughts Stiles had indulged in throughout the day. In English, where they were watching a video. At lunch when Scott talked about Allison’s hair. In Chem when he was supposed to be completing a lab. Oops.

Lydia ploughed into him. “Nice one, Stilinski.” She actually sounded impressed. 

Stiles scowled at her before heading towards Derek. “I could have got a ride from Scott.”

“And ruined our beautiful tradition?” Stiles wasn’t sure he was supposed to take Derek seriously or not, being as Derek’s voice was suspiciously dry.

Derek waited until Stiles clambered into his car before he got in. “You didn’t have to do this,” Stiles said again. “Really.”

“I volunteered. It’s not –“ Derek’s voice trailed off as he navigated his way out of the lot. Stiles might have preened a little at the disbelieving stares he received. And the thumbs up from Danny.

“Thanks.” Stiles liked this. “You want to come in and watch another movie?”

Derek tapped his fingers on the steering wheel again. “I don’t know that I should.” He sounded younger when he said it. Stiles remembered the time when he’d stumbled across Derek in the woods. Derek would have been younger than he was now. But Stiles had a sudden jigsaw piece slotting into place moment. Derek had a hickey, vivid and purpling on his neck back then.

Derek pulled up to a stop light and finally turned to look at Stiles. “I almost sent you a card for your birthday.”

“Yeah? I mean, what?” Stiles twisted himself around so he was facing Derek more than the road. It was possibly this that made him pull Derek toward him when he saw the SUV barreling straight towards them. There was no screech of tires, no swerving. The red car accelerated towards them, almost as fast as Stiles’s heart was beating. Derek caught what Stiles was looking at and ducked down, covering as much of Stiles as he could as the out-of-control SUV slammed into Derek’s car. There was class and panic and a whole lot of distressed screeching metal.

Stiles grabbed for anything – Derek mostly – as the car shot sideways across the road and slammed into the side of the 7/11 next to the gas station. It happened so fast that it seemed like one minute he and Derek were fumbling through yet another awkward conversation and the next they were in a crumpled pile.

The radio was still going as the noise of crushing and smashing died away, sounding weirdly loud. Stiles flicked it off. He didn’t move much more than his fingertips but even that made his entire body scream in pain. He heard revving from outside the car but couldn’t lift his head to look. Derek was warm above him, holding him in place. Derek also seemed to be out of it, his forehead pressed into Stiles’s shoulder tight.

The next thing Stiles heard was sirens.

 

His dad hugging him was good, even if it seemed to press into every bruise and bump. The drugs that the doctor in the ER gave him were even better. The worst was Derek’s silence. Derek hadn’t said anything, or even opened his eyes, since the SUV hit them. He’d clung to Stiles, a hand wrapped tight in Stiles’s t-shirt, as the firefighters cut them out of the car. Stiles had been able to talk to the rescuers, lift his hand, close his eyes when instructed. But Derek had said nothing, breathing slowly and shallowly. When they lifted him out, Stiles’s jeans were soaked with his blood.

Time seemed to go fast and slow. One minute they were being rushed to hospital, the next he was lying on a bed and picking at the brand new bandage on his arm. It was boring, lying there. He couldn’t watch anyone, speak to anyone, think of anything but Derek and the amount of blood still caking his jeans.

Eventually his dad came in, looking a decade older. “Someone’s going to come get your statement. Then we’re going home.” He slumped into the chair by Stiles’s bed and ran his hands through his hair. “How’re you feeling?”

“I think I get why people become addicted to drugs.” Stiles watched the ceiling before he realized he should probably say something else. “How’re you?”

“I wasn’t the one in a vehicle collision.” His dad reached out and grabbed one of his hands. “Don’t do drugs, by the way.”

“Too late,” Stiles shot back. “How’s Derek?”

“In surgery.” His dad’s voice went quiet and serious. “His family is here now.”

Stiles stumbled through the story when Deputy Spitzer came in. He’d known her since he was a kid and it was nice to speak to someone who understood his idiosyncrasies. On the other hand, Stiles found it hard to concentrate on her questions. Derek was in surgery which meant it was serious which meant he might die and all because he’d been looking after Stiles and it made him want to punch something. 

Maybe himself.

There was a rap at the door as the questioning was finishing up. It was Laura.

“Hey, Stiles.” She sounded as worn out as his dad had sounded. She was still in her work clothes – must have come straight from her office – but was carrying her high heels instead of wearing them. “Mom wanted me to come check on you.”

“How’s Derek?” Stiles ignored the look Deputy Spitzer shot him and watched Laura closely, alert to any obfuscation or avoidance. Instead she came into the room and perched on the end of his bed. 

“Doctors say he’ll be fine. He’s alive.” Laura kicked her feet out, pointing her toes and flexing them. “They don’t know what the extent of the damage is.”

“It’s all my fault,” Stiles admitted, miserable.

“More the driver who hit you, I think,” Spitzer said before she got to her feet and headed out. “I’ll send your dad back in.”

Stiles lay back on the pillows, watching Laura, who was staring at her toes. “I still feel like…”

“He likes you, you know.” Laura wasn’t even looking to see Stiles’s reaction to this weird segue. Tangent. Bombshell. 

“I think we’re friends,” Stiles tried, after he regained the ability to speak again. “He’s cool, once you get past the, uh, chilly exterior thing.”

“He’s totally that grumpy cat, right?” Laura let out a shaky chuckle. “But, no, he _likes_ you, likes you. I like to call you Jailbait.” This time she looked at Stiles and made a face that was startlingly close to Derek’s expression when he thought he’d got one over on Stiles. But Stiles knew Laura. This was a strategy he knew all too: she was aiming to distract both him and herself from thinking about the operating room and the possibilities of disaster.

“Thank you for that. Don’t tell my dad.” Stiles kept his voice dry. “Tell me what shit you’ve been up to at work.”

 

Laura stayed with him until his dad reappeared, chatted to him for a while before she headed back to wherever her family was waiting. Stiles was half-tempted to ask to join them but he was suddenly hit with a wave of exhaustion. He had no idea what time it was but it must have been late. He’d been in here for hours. His dad handed him his phone as Stiles was wheeled to the exit (stupid rules) and he checked his messages. It was pretty gratifying to see the amount of texts and messages and everything. They loved him, they really did.

Stiles still shot off a quick text to Laura asking for any updates as he settled into the front of his dad’s cruiser.

 

His phone woke him in the middle of the night. He scrambled for it, still mostly asleep. _Derek out of surgery. Come see him in morning?_ Then Stiles rolled over and went back to sleep, feeling much better all of a sudden.

 

Derek looked pale under his stubble as Stiles came (under his own power) into the hospital. He had dark shadows under his eyes as well. Derek's mom was in the chair beside the bed, a blanket clutched to her chest. Derek was asleep. Stiles hovered in the doorway, unsure. But Mrs. Hale gestured him in. 

Derek stirred as he came closer to the bed, his ridiculously long eyelashes flickering. "Stiles?"

"Yup. You okay?"

"Not so much." Derek rasped. His voice was quiet, rough. He rolled his head on the pillow to look at his mom before coming back to Stiles and just sticking.

"What's the damage then? You going to be back fighting crime tomorrow?" Stiles knew he had adopted the kind of jovial, cheery tone that nurses and kindergarten teachers tended to use. Derek made a face at him.

"Broken ribs are the worst of it. Lots of bruising." Derek pouted - actually, really, literally - and scratched at the thick bandage over his arm. "Sprained my wrist too."

"Guess that's going to suck." Stiles rocked on his heels and then came closer, sitting on the bed when Derek moved his foot.

Derek looked rather flatly at Stiles for a moment. "I might have to move back in with my parents."

"There's no might about it, sweetie." Derek's mom had the same kind of dry taunting sense of humor as the rest of the family. Derek continued to look unimpressed.

Stiles hid his laugh behind a cough but he couldn't help but admit to how relieved he felt. Seeing Derek act like a grumpy kid - totally under the influence of the drugs but it still counted - was a special treat but Stiles was just happy Derek was going to be fine.

Derek's mom muttered something about bathrooms and headed out of the room. Stiles leaned over and patted Derek's hand. "It'll be fine. I'll come help you out."

Inexplicably, Derek's ears turned bright red. "It's okay. You don't have to."

"Yeah, I do." Stiles knew he was being over emphatic but he couldn't help it. All he could think about was what might have happened to Derek because of him.

Derek reached out and grabbed Stiles's hand. It was mildly like being batted at by a tiny weak kitten but it was still Derek holding his hand which made his stomach swoop and lurch.

"it wasn't your fault. None of it." Derek didn't move his hand away for all that he settled back on the bed, looking exhausted. Stiles didn't move either, sorta happy to be here with Derek, faced with the reassurance he was still alive and going to be okay. Derek’s eyes fluttered closed but Stiles didn’t move, didn’t pull his hand away, until Derek’s mom came back. He also ignored the small noise of complaint Derek made when he stood up, waving and headed out. Derek was just moaning about the bed being jostled. That was all.

 

Stiles had another day off school, his dad in super protective mode. In reality, this turned into a Stilinski Men’s movie marathon. His dad even fetched the snacks rather than abusing his father powers to make Stiles get the chips, cookies, soda… He even ordered in Chinese. Stiles was in a pretty nice food coma by the time his phone chirruped one more time that night.

“Scott?” his dad asked, not even bothering to look away from Jeff Bridges’s bathrobe. 

“Laura.” Stiles was too busy reading the message to really pay attention to his dad’s reaction but he knew there was some stiffening at the other end of the sofa. “You should make me a White Russian. Then we can totally pretend to be one with the Dude.”

“Or I can get you some milk and you can pretend until you’re 21.” His dad didn’t sound that amused at the idea, not like he usually was. “What does the message say?”

“Derek’s at his parents. He was being a baby about the hospital. And Laura wants me to send over DVDs so she doesn’t have to listen to him moan.” Stiles reread the message. “Actually, no. What she wants is for me to go over with DVDs so she doesn’t have to listen to him moan.”

“That’s interesting.” Stiles’s dad’s voice crept towards interrogative. “You and Derek seem to be getting really close.” Stiles had a sudden flashback to his dad’s witnessing of his torrid confession.

“Well. He’s not interested in me. He’s not being creepy or old or anything. It’s just – he’s a good guy and I think we’re friends.” Stiles stumbled his way through another confession, hoping his dad would take pity on him and stop talking and let him go back to Lebowski. 

His dad paused the movie. “And it’s good. And I’m disturbed by your propensity to have these crushes. Just remember you’re in high school and he works for me. Even though you’re 18.”

Stiles nodded. “And can we be done talking about it?”

His dad made the kind of hmm noise that the word non-committal was invented for. But he started the movie again and Stiles settled down, after texting Laura that he’d be there in the morning.

 

Stiles wondered if he’d gone into overkill as he showed up with doughnuts, chips, Snickers, DVDs, his laptop and balloons. He’d drawn the line at flowers. He was adopting the whole “you saved my life and I’m over-compensating” look. It was either that or offer blow jobs to Derek for all eternity. And Stiles was pretty sure that offer would not be accepted.

Stiles spent a few minutes thinking about Derek’s cock and what it’d be like to suck it while he waited for someone to answer the door. He’d had to ring the doorbell with his elbow anyway. Stiles still hurt but the sharp edge of pain had diminished to a background ache and his bruises were well on the way of turning pus yellow and sickly green.

Laura opened the door. She was wearing slippers that appeared to be sharks. It was probably a lawyer joke. But Stiles fixed on them to avoid meeting her eyes. She huffed out something that could charitably be described as a sigh but Stiles knew it was probably a laugh. “Come on. The patient is back in his old bedroom.”

“How’s he doing?” Stiles had been in the Hale house once or twice with his mom but hadn’t really been here at all since she died. He had no reason to be. He chatted to Laura when he ran into her in the station and around town, but it wasn’t like they were best buds. He was still in high school after all. He was too young. He was not anybody’s idea of a boyfriend. Especially not a hot older cop like Derek. Stiles ran the litany through his head as he followed Laura up the wooden staircase.

Laura pointed him towards a door and waved at him, leaving Stiles standing in the hallway and screwing up his courage. He finally decided that a direct approach was correct, tapped the door and pushed into the room. 

Derek was shirtless.

Okay, that was probably not the most important thing to notice. Derek was lying on his bed, propped up on an arrangement of pillows. He also had his sprained wrist propped on a separate cushion – a Muppets one – by his side. He had an e-reader in his free hand but it was lying at his side. He looked startled to see Stiles. And he was shirtless, which meant Stiles could see nipples. Admittedly most of Derek’s torso was swathed in thick white bandage and he had the occasional cut and bruise sprinkled over quite a lot of his body. He looked like he’d been through a war. Stiles felt vaguely guilty for being disappointed that the bandages covered Derek’s abs because he reckoned they still looked as amazing as he remembered from that time in the pool.

Stiles decided not to focus on the naked bits of Derek. He dragged his eyes up to Derek's face. Which, admittedly, still caused Stiles to feel feelings. "How's it hanging, dude?"

"In the 90s apparently." Derek's voice sounded stronger. It held his usual edge of sarcastic anger. Stiles offered his bounty in apology. That made Derek’s eyebrows return to their normal place on his forehead. “How are you?”

“Little sore. Stiff.” Stiles shrugged. “Get tired easily. But better than yesterday. For real, how’re you?” 

“Bored.” Derek gestured with his bandaged arm.

“I have the solution to all that!” Stiles thrust his goodies in Derek’s general direction. “Food and fun.”

“Does that stuff count as food?” Derek was smiling though. Well, his lips were tilted up at the edges.

“I could have brought a fruit basket but I thought that was in the same category as flowers.” Stiles fussed around, arranging the food close to Derek’s free arm and spotting a fruit basket shoved under one of the tables. Finally he sorted out his laptop, holding up DVDs. “I brought a range of genres, just to keep it varied.”

“Stiles, they’re all action films.” Derek didn’t look too perturbed. He seemed more relaxed than he’d been since Stiles wandered in to his space.

“Well. Yeah. But like superhero action and action action and violent action. Spy action?” Stiles finished his explanation, holding up the latest Bond film. “This is pretty good.”

“I missed it at the movies,” Derek admitted. “I wouldn’t mind watching it.”

“Cool. So I’ll get it set up and come back for my laptop…” Derek cut Stiles off by shaking his head. “You don’t want to watch it on my laptop? You got like a DVD?”

“Stiles, stop. I want to watch it with you.” The tips of Derek’s ears were blushing, a faint red, but Derek kept a fairly impassive, blank, unreadable expression on his face. “You’ll need to explain it, probably.”

Stiles finished setting up the DVD and looked around for the best option. He could pull the old battered computer chair over to sit in and rest the laptop on the bed or – and Stiles took a moment to order his thoughts – he could use the chair for the laptop and lie along the space Derek had left on the bed. It wasn’t a big space but Stiles was skinny and didn’t take up much room. And he could get close to Derek. Stiles ruthlessly cut off that train of thought.

Derek watched him carefully as Stiles shuffled around the room, half closing the curtains and angling the screen just so. He had to dash around the bed to not miss the opening. Indeed, the only thing that caused him to pause was when he finally got back to the side of the bed where he wanted to lie down.

Derek glanced up at him before he very carefully shuffled over and left much more defined space for Stiles. Trying not to read too much into it, Stiles lay on the warm sheets that smelled of Derek. He definitely tried not to think about the fact he could feel Derek breathing in and out next to him. Luckily the film was good, engrossing for all that he’d seen it a few times before. 

Derek shifted a little during the movie, passed food to Stiles, asked the occasional “and who’s she?” type of question but he mainly lay in silence. As the credits started to roll, Stiles wasn’t sure if he should move or not. He was pretty sure Derek was almost asleep.

“We could play this.” Derek’s voice was soft and dreamy.

“Skyfall? When it crumbles! When it something that rhymes with falls…” Stiles slipped off the bed and paused the movie.

“Well. Yes. But more Bond.” Derek paused, deep in thought. “Can you get the internet on that thing?”

“WiFi password?” Stiles clicked a few buttons.

“My mom should have it,” Derek told him, tapping his fingers on the covers, obviously working out some musical thing. “She’s downstairs.”

“This is very Q and Bond, I hope you know.” Stiles wandered out into the hallway and headed towards the sound of voices downstairs. Laura and her mother were reading newspapers at the kitchen table.

“Hey, I was wondering if I could get your WiFi password? To do internet things. With Derek. For Derek?” Stiles buttoned his lips with an effort.

“Are you going to introduce him to the modern world? Make it so Mom doesn’t need to pretend not to find his porn anymore when she sneaks in to tidy his apartment and to snoop?” Laura’s eyes danced with mischief.

Stiles couldn’t believe she said that in front of her mom. He choked on air for a moment, mouth hanging open. “We’re going to look at music,” was what Stiles lamely ended up stuttering out. He really didn’t want to ask what kind of porn Derek was looking at because a) mom and b) that way lay madness.

He clamped his mouth shut again while Mrs Hale bustled about, flicking through the paper attached to the fridge and pulling out a code. She handed it over and winked, quite deliberately. Stiles threw a thank you over his shoulder and fled as fast as his feet could carry him. He wasn’t entirely sure but he thought he heard laughter from the kitchen following him.

“Your family is nuts, man.” Stiles leaned back against the door, making sure it was firmly closed.

Derek stared at him for a moment before nodding emphatically. “Yes,” he agreed, with feeling.

Stiles lay back on the bed with the laptop balanced precariously on his stomach. His side was pressed up against Derek’s this time because he was no longer lying on his side. It was weirdly intimate and Stiles had a moment of wondering whether he could slyly ask about Derek’s porn preferences. Like whether they featured skinny guys with dark hair who could offer to take care of business while his wrist was sprained.

Who was he kidding? There was absolutely no sly way to ask that. 

Derek directed him to YouTube before Stiles’s brain could invent more activities he could suggest to Derek. Stiles typed really quickly so that the autocorrect wouldn’t fill in his more frequently used websites. Like YouPornGay, for example. That would be the opposite of what he wanted. He hoped Derek couldn’t read the way it flashed across the screen. Instead he winced at the suggested links down the side of YouTube – all brass bands. Yeah, he was so cool.

Derek leaned across and laboriously typed in a search and they were off. First up was a pretty straight Bond theme and then a medley. Stiles replayed that, already hearing Erica’s shriek of joy at the amount of triangle work. Derek even vaguely grinned at that. There wasn’t a version of Skyfall but Stiles could already see Derek was eager to work it in. “And we could, like, wear bow ties and tuxedos and stuff.” Stiles could picture the whole thing.

“Or we could just work in some movement. I think that you’re pretty much supposed to keep the tuxedo for prom, not the lacrosse field.” Derek pointed at another video and Stiles obediently selected it.

They watched in silence for around thirty seconds until Stiles couldn’t stop himself. “I’m not going to prom.” Stiles hadn’t meant to say it but there was this burning in his gut pushing the words out and he couldn’t stop them. “I’ve got no one to go with and I don’t want to be the guy hanging around with all the couples.” Stiles shuddered out a breath. “And I don’t even know why I’m caring when my life is being threatened by some psycho and you were almost killed and it all just sucks anyway.”

Derek paused the video. “You should still go. You shouldn’t let them stop you. Whoever them is.” Derek’s eyes took on a faraway look. “And I’ll keep you company. If I’m healed enough. Be your bodyguard.”

Stiles beat down the whole I think that maybe Derek asked me to prom squee he was tempted to indulge in. “You are totally Bond.” 

“Yeah. Now put in another DVD.” Derek shifted on the bed until he was more comfortable. 

Stiles debated taking the laptop back to the chair but decided he was more comfortable like this as well. “Okay, dude. You ready for some superhero goodness?” 

Derek sneered at the use of dude but settled back against his pillows and offered Stiles the bag of chips. 

Derek drifted off to sleep somewhere in the middle of Iron Man 2 which left Stiles in a bit of a quandary. He should go, leave Derek in peace but if he moved he might jostle Derek and knock his ribs and wake him up. Stiles continued to watch the movie, trying not to sneak frequent glances at Derek, with his eyelashes fanned over his cheeks.

The decision not to move was taken from him when his bladder started to complain urgently. Stiles moved as stealthily as possible but he still woke Derek.

“Where are you going?” Derek slurred, mostly asleep.

“Bathroom?” Stiles stood up and placed the laptop on the bed.

“You’ll come back?” The question was a little plaintive and Stiles nodded, his throat dry. Derek let his head fall to the side and shut his eyes again. 

Stiles hovered in the hallway, wondering which of the doors led to the bathroom. He was about to start randomly guessing when he noticed a door with switches outside it.

Laura was waiting for him when he came back outside. "Derek's asleep," Stiles told her.

"Derek's an asshole," she replied. "You coming down?"

Stiles shook his head. "I promised I'd go back. Anyway. Stuff is about to blow up. In the movie."

"That's the only blowing going on?" Stiles wasn't sure if she was teasing or checking.

He slipped back into Derek's bedroom. Before he'd been so focused on Derek himself and his bare chest - yup, still nipples there - that he hadn't really looked around. It was obviously not exactly as Derek had left it - boxes in the corner and a sewing machine hinted at its use as a storage room. There were still posters on the wall, including a huge Dizzy Gillespie one. Stiles laughed at the collection of Simpsons figures and the swim team trophies. It was a glimpse into a Derek who wouldn't have been much older than himself when he moved out. That then had Stiles thinking about college and the fact he was going away in only a matter of months.

Derek stirred on the bed, his uninjured hand groping at the space where Stiles had been.

"Hey, you want anything?"

Derek stared at Stiles for a long minute, his lips parted. Stiles watched avidly as Derek licked his lips. But then Derek seemed to return to his right mind. "It's cool. I'm probably going to sleep."

"Can I come over tomorrow?" Stiles asked, the words coming out in a rush.

Derek nodded. "You're always welcome. Here and at my apartment. I like it when you're around." He kept looking at Stiles, intently, until Stiles had to duck his head, look away. 

 

Stiles took a long time to go to sleep, parsing over everything Derek had said to him. They’d had fun, watching movies and sleeping. It had been weirdly comfortable for all Stiles had spent a lot of the time really really aware of Derek’s whole skin and heat thing. But they’d been friendly. Not like him and Scott, but friends. And Stiles liked it. He liked Derek. He was surprised, almost, to admit to himself that as well as knowing deep in his bones how hot he found Derek.

It made him feel almost guilty for jerking off to the memory of Derek’s body beside his. Almost. But it still didn’t stop him.

 

Sunday and Stiles knew he better catch up on the homework he’d been avoiding. He got halfway through his English chapters when his phone vibrated. He’d deliberately put it all the way across the room to avoid the temptation of playing games on it but he needed to know who’d contacted him.

_Name of music score software. > _

Stiles frowned at his phone. The message was from an unknown number. It could be anyone or it could be a complete mistake. He was about to reply when the phone shook again. 

_Please._

That made him laugh. He was halfway through heading back to his bed when the phone vibrated with yet another message. 

_It’s Derek._

That made Stiles pause. He slumped down on the bed and started to compose his reply, typing and deleting more words than he was comfortable admitting to. In the end, he settled on _How did you get my number? You should combine message to not kill bill and I think it’s called Sibelius_. He resisted the urge to ask if Derek had a computer but he hadn’t seen any evidence of one yesterday. 

His phone vibrated instantly. _Laura. And thank you. Unlimited plan. Never use it._

Stiles picked up his book but he realized he’d basically read the same sentence six times before he came to the decision that he needed to reply. He wanted to reply. _You should. It suits the way you talk._ Stiles went back to his book. Gatsby was alright but Nick was really starting to bug his shit. At least it was short. He made it through a page and a half before his phone buzzed again. 

So much for avoiding distractions. 

_Witty and urbane? Yes._

Stiles snorted. He could picture Derek raising his eyebrows as he typed. _Whatever. Did you have to read Gatsby in school? Not a fan._

_Symbolism kicking your ass? You should really not watch the film, by the way._

Stiles had already tried and failed but he wasn’t going to admit that to Derek. _What kind of sentence is that? I’m bored._

_Shame they never turned it into a superhero film._

It was only when his dad called him down to dinner that Stiles realized he’d spent the best part of the day engaged in a text conversation with Derek, covering everything from IT support to best types of sandwich. It left this grin on Stiles’s face that he couldn’t quite tamp down as he headed downstairs. Walking was easier again than it had been yesterday and Stiles slid into his usual seat with at least a modicum of his usual “grace”. 

His dad eyed him suspiciously. “How’s the homework going?” 

“Fine. Back to school tomorrow and ready to keep that GPA up until Graduation.” Stiles stuffed some of the meatloaf into his mouth. 

His dad made a non-committal noise. “And how’s Derek?”

“Good. He’s using this program to arrange this James Bond medley thing for the band. It’s going to be awesome. I’m thinking we’re gonna kick ass at the whole battle of the bands thing that goes on during the championship game.” Stiles forked more meatloaf in and chewed furiously. He really needed to learn to compensate for his dad’s interrogation techniques.

His dad just stared as he chewed his mashed potato. Stiles kept eating until he was basically swallowing air. “Derek’s fine. He’s…chatty.”

That made his dad screech to a halt. “Are we talking about the same guy?”

“We text, now, apparently.” Stiles shrugged and lunged for his water glass. “I’m going to finish my homework, okay. Bye bye.” Stiles charged out of the kitchen and had to run back to stick his fork back on the table. He dropped a quick hug around his dad’s shoulders and headed out again.

 

School dragged a little on the Monday. On one hand, Stiles had this strange notoriety going on what with the story of the crash still headline news. People he’d never spoken to before were nodding to him in the hallways and asking to see his bruises. He even had an offer to kiss it better from some sophomore who wore way too much eyeliner. But he received a text from Derek before first period even started. _Come over tonight. Study hard first._

Stiles spent a lot of the time he wasn’t sliding away from over-attentive fans wondering what Derek wanted. His mind was happy to provide any number of scenarios. In the end it was almost anti-climactic to come in to find Derek set up on the downstairs sofa. He was also, disappointingly, wearing a shirt.

“Hey,” Derek waved, absently. He then looked up from where he was scowling at the laptop that had been set up on one of those old lady TV dinner trays. “Oh, good.” A brief smile crossed his face and Stiles found himself grinning in response. One of Derek’s tiny smiles was like an enormous soppy grin on anyone else.

“What did you need?” Stiles asked. His brain continued to list the options: hand job, blow job, fingering… Stiles concentrated extra hard on the corner of the sofa which was fraying slightly to avoid meeting Derek’s eyes just in case he’d developed mind reading skills or something.

“Help.” Derek sounded rueful. “With the computer thing. It looks good but I just – Can you help me?” Derek stuttered to a stop and gave Stiles a pathetic look. Stiles was still standing so Derek looking up through his eyelashes had a fairly devastating impact. His knees fucking weakened.

“Sure.” Stiles slid into the seat next to Derek, promised his dick some real quality one on one time – he’d even get the lube out rather than just using the lotion at the side of his bed – if it would stay under control and took the laptop. It didn’t take long to sort out Derek’s snarl up and soon the pair of them were quite happily arguing about scores and notes and tempo.

Derek finally put his hand over Stiles’s. “Do you want some dinner?”

“Yeah.” The word was out of Stiles’s mouth before he even realized what Derek was asking. He had a feeling that he’d responding positively to quite a lot of Derek’s suggestions. “But no. I need to get home to see my dad and homework and it’s kinda late now.”

Derek lifted his hand and Stiles’s wishful thinking read it as reluctantly. “I’ll let you go.”

“I want to come back, though. And take you up on dinner sometime.” Stiles was proud he managed to get that out without stuttering, although he probably thought the blush he could feel on his cheeks hinted at his entire lack of smooth. James Bond would be shaking his head right now. Derek just gave him another one of those small yet perfect smiles. “Tomorrow? Same bat time?”

“Sure, Robin.” Derek raised an eyebrow as if daring Stiles to comment. Stiles kept his mouth shut but settled for flipping Derek the bird instead. Derek’s laughter followed him out of the door. 

 

When Stiles came back to the Hale house, Derek's mom waved him upstairs without any surprise. It sent a warmth through Stiles that he was expected, almost. He was certainly welcome. He bounced up the stairs and breezed into Derek’s room and came to an abrupt halt.

Derek was lying on the bed like he was most of the times Stiles visited. He was shirtless, like always. What was new was the fact he was in boxers and his dick was hard and poking out of them and Derek had his left hand wrapped around it and he was stroking. It took Stiles a moment to realize that Derek was getting in a little five finger shuffle.

Derek looked up at Stiles, desperation writ plainly on his face. Stiles knew – what? He was a teenage boy. He’s experimented – that jerking with your offhand was definitely frustrating. All the teasing he’d been doing about helping Derek out, giving him a hand swirled through Stiles’s mind until he regained use of his body and crossed the rug to where Derek was completely still on the bed, overcome with shock.

“For real. Want a hand?” Stiles didn’t realize his voice could sound so rough, so low. He knew he could get hard that fast, his dick pressing against his zipper. But the pain was a welcome distraction. Derek was the one who mattered here.

Derek looked at him, perhaps weighing him up. Then he nodded, tips of his ears bright red, the flush spreading down across his cheeks, down his neck. Stiles raised his right hand to his mouth and licked it and a low moan worked its way out of Derek’s mouth. He dropped his hand to his side, letting his dick slap against the bare skin revealed by the lack of clothing, a drop of precome slicking up the dark trail of hair that led down to his dick. 

When Stiles finally got his hand around Derek’s cock, he realized he was breathing as heavily as Derek was. It wasn’t the first time he’d got his hand on someone else’s cock but, for the first time, it didn’t feel strange or awkward. He stroked up, gathering more moisture from the head, coming to kneel over Derek, his thighs wide to support him. He didn’t touch any part of Derek except for his cock and Stiles focused on it to avoid looking at Derek. He wasn’t sure what he was going to see if he looked up. Instead he jerked Derek’s cock and listened to the soft sighs, the hitches of breath that showed he was doing the right thing. 

Derek’s cock was thicker than his, burning against his palm. Stiles couldn’t take it anymore, shuffling backwards and lowering his head. He had to taste, had to feel that warmth against his tongue. He held himself over Derek and parted his lips. The smell hit him first before the bitter taste of come and the earthy scent filled his mouth. He sucked eagerly at the head, desperate to take more in, worried that he’d fall and hurt Derek if he did. 

Derek’s hand found its way to the back of Stiles’s head and it was that, as much as the punch of Derek’s hips and his strangled gasp that could have been Stiles’s name that made Stiles look up and finally meet Derek’s eyes. Derek looked wrecked, his hair curling at the temples where he’d sweated into it, his face glistening, his mouth just hanging open, as if breathing was all he could manage. He was utterly fixed on Stiles. Stiles swallowed, feeling Derek’s cock hit the roof of his mouth then Derek’s eyes slammed shut and he came. No warning, no shout. Just as if Stiles had pulled it out of him.

Stiles leaned back, working Derek through it then carefully placing his softening cock back inside Derek’s boxers. His own, poor, neglected cock was throbbing. He wondered if he could make it to the bathroom without anyone noticing him, jerk off in there, take care of it. Instead Derek’s fingers were ineptly tugging at his buttons. 

“You – Get it open.” Derek gave a frustrated huff. “Let me see.”

In the end, Stiles unzipped himself, fighting down all the doubts about Derek wanting this as Derek tightened his hand awkwardly around Stiles’s cock. He batted Derek’s hand away and started to stroke with the hand covered in the mixture of his own spit and Derek’s come. Derek used his hand to ruck up Stiles’s t-shirt, find a spot on his hip to grip. 

“Yeah,” Derek muttered. “Do it. Let me see. Fuck. You look –“ He cut himself off with a groan. Stiles grinned, a little reckless. He was normally the one doing all the talking and here was Derek unable to keep his words in check. Stiles was too close to come to even put on more of a show. He twisted his hand around the head, squeezing just on the right side of too hard and shuddered out his own orgasm. He couldn’t stay upright through it all. Stiles fell forward, catching himself at the last moment with a hand on the pillow beside Derek’s head. He leaned his other elbow on the other side, sprawling over Derek, so close he could feel the heat rising from his skin.

Derek’s uninjured hand rubbed up and down Stiles’s side before coming to cup the back of his head again. “Kiss me?” Derek sounded vulnerable, off. Instead of questioning it, however, Stiles dipped down and kissed Derek, mouth open and still panting softly. It wasn’t an exploratory kiss, nothing tentative. He met every movement of Derek’s lips, his own tongue slick as it sought out Derek’s. Stiles wanted to do nothing more than kiss Derek like this until they were ready for round two and three and… He really wanted to never stop kissing Derek like this.

Finally Stiles seemed to come back to himself. It was awkward holding himself above Derek like this and his cock was kinda cold and pathetic, just hanging out of his jeans. And Derek had to be cold wearing only his boxers. Stiles let the kisses trail off to just soft presses of mouths to each other. He could swear Derek’s mouth had magical addictive properties.

“Need to clean up,” Derek murmured into the break between kissing. “Need to talk, Stiles.”

That made Stiles sit up again, shuffle over until he could lie on the bed without hurting Derek. “Yeah.” A solid black lump settled into his belly. Of course this was a one time thing. Derek was just horny and frustrated and Stiles was there and that was that. At least he had an amazing spank bank image to go to time and again. In fact, it might have ruined most of his usual spank bank material forever. Stiles rolled off the bed, grabbed the tissues from the desk and brought them over the bed, snagging a few for himself. It was pretty gross and weirdly intimate to scrub the mixture of Derek and his own come from his hand, from his cock and just zip himself up like nothing had happened. But the prickle of what was sure to be stubble burn and the wet, used look of Derek’s mouth reminded him that it was true and good and permanent. No take backs.

Stiles perched himself on the desk while Derek hauled the sheets up from the foot of the bed where he’d kicked them earlier and covered himself up. He spent too long just looking at Stiles like he was drinking his fill, like a camel taking on water for a long walk across the desert.

“You can’t come around anymore.” Derek sounded adamant firm.

“But. We can not. We can keep our hands to ourselves.” Stiles waved his hands around. He didn’t want to lose their weird antagonistic form of friendship he’d built with Derek as well as the possibility of sexy times.

Derek let his eyes roam up Stiles’s body, working their way slowly up. By the time he met Stiles’s gaze, Stiles was sure he was blushing furiously. “I don’t trust myself. You’re in high school and I work for your father and you deserve – shit, Stiles. You deserve someone your own age who’ll be fun and will take you to Prom without having to come up with bullshit excuses. “

“But I want you.” Stiles cursed the fact his mouth seemed to have lost its filter with his orgasm. Then he strengthened his resolve. Maybe this would clear the air between them. “I’m eighteen. I’m about to graduate. It isn’t like I’ve got a lot of options or offers, but I’m pretty much set on you.” Stiles counted the reasons off on his fingers. He could see Derek reacting, visibly shuddering. “There isn’t that much of an age gap.”

“I’m six years older than you.” Derek clutched to the reason. “And I’m… messed up, Stiles. You don’t really know me.”

“What? You’re into kinky shit? I could get behind that. My tastes in porn are both broad and catholic.” Stiles tried to grin but he knew the effort was pretty lame, a twisted version of what had come to him so easily.

Derek shook his head. “I don’t know if you remember but we met before I started coaching the band.”

“I remember. ‘Course I remember.” Stiles pushed off the desk. He hovered in the space between them for a moment before he sat, cross-legged, on the foot of the bed. “We met in the woods and you looked like you’d been crying.”

“I’d been out there for hours, you know. My girlfriend – or, well, who I thought was my girlfriend – had turned… wrong. Violent. She was literally insane. She tried to set fire to this house, kill everyone.” Derek shook his head. “She was older and she’d gone out of her way to fuck with me and it wasn’t… I should have listened to my conscience.” Derek was obviously finding it difficult to get the words out, halting and speaking so quietly that Stiles had to strain to hear.

“The second time I met you -“ Stiles began. “You wouldn’t remember it.”

“Tell me.” Derek suddenly looked better, as if Stiles speaking had dragged him out of whatever memory loop he’d been stuck in. 

“I’d gone to the school pool with Scott – the high school one. We normally just used the community one but it was something Melissa and I don’t know. Anyway. So we’re complaining about how boring it is just swimming lengths but Scott is on this whole health kick to try and build up his wind and he just about has an attack in the pool.” Stiles laughed. Scott was always trying shit like that. What he really needed to do was use his stupid inhaler properly. “Anyway. I can’t get him out and he’s going to drown and suddenly you’re there. You dived in, like, fully dressed and just dragged him to the side of the pool.”

Derek scratched at the back of his head. “I remember.”

“You got some kind of award, I think.” Stiles squirmed around for a moment, remembering what came next. “You stripped off your shirt and your jeans were just molded and you kept asking for Scott’s name and all I could think of was that I hoped you couldn’t see I was hard.” Derek let out a laugh at that while Stiles pulled a face. “You were all shirtless and competent and that was it, boom. Derek Hale or nobody.”

Derek stretched out his hand and Stiles grabbed it, holding tight. “I knew you were hard. I was trying not to notice.”

“And now my humiliation is complete.” Stiles knew his smile this time was more genuine. “I can wait. Not forever, because I don’t want to die a virgin. But…” Stiles watched Derek. “Graduation. I can wait until after graduation and then we can… date?” He tried not to sound too hopeful but that was probably a vain hope. He was essentially made of hope and hormones after all.

“Let me think about it.” Derek cut off Stiles’s protestations. “I have to, Stiles. I’m not saying no. Just that this is going to take thinking about.”

“That is too reasonable and adult. We could make out a bit more and then we should decide.” Stiles was only half-joking. He was pretty sure he could wear down Derek with his mouth and, if not, it would be fun trying. Derek looked torn for a moment before he shook his head. Stiles squeezed his hand and then let go.

He could wait. Graduation wasn’t that far away.

 

Band practice had been fairly excruciating while he’d been all banged up but Stiles felt well enough to wriggle inside his sousaphone the next Tuesday. He had an additional treat as the Camaro drew up at the side of the pitch and Laura waved them over.

“I’ve got Derek but there’s no way he can march about. Someone needs to set up the camping seat I’ve got in the trunk.” Laura fluttered her eyelashes. It must have worked on people who didn’t know her to be the evil scheming mastermind that she was because in no time a disgruntled Derek was set up in front of the assembled ranks. Laura designated Scott as Derek’s runner – something Scott looked mightily displeased about – and headed off, with an airy assurance that, “Stiles will see you home, Derek.”

Stiles would. But it would have been nice to have been asked. And he had no idea how Derek was supposed to haul himself up into the jeep.

Instead Stiles focused on the new score Derek was handing around. He watched the others as they nervously flicked through the pages, knowing what it was. 

Erica was the first to get it. “Fuck, yeah.” She high-fived Boyd and Isaac. They were having to carry a heavy load on this.

Derek coughed to get their attention. “It’s eight weeks away and I thought you might like to bring something new to the whole band battle that goes on at the championship game.” There were murmurs of agreement and a heartfelt “No more Mamma Mia” from Greenberg. Then again, Coach had made him wear sequins for that. “I’m thinking we start off with Stars and Stripes Forever, do a little something slower and then end with this?”

Stiles wondered if Derek had realized he’d made them part of the decision. Like he was asking their opinion and that it mattered. He wasn’t just ordering them to do what he wanted. Stiles parsed this in his brain while the others thought of suggestions for the middle, ranging from Beyonce to classical to _Somewhere_ which, Lydia argued, was the best of all worlds and not just because it had a clarinet solo.

“I could just do my Sleeping Beauty bit,” Stiles offered, a little sarcastically, into the silence that fell.

“What?” Lydia asked, one hand on her hip, a sign that tended to warn of imminent danger.

Stiles fitted his lips into the mouthpiece and played a little bit of the tune he remembered. It sounded kinda cool, just him and his sousaphone, out here on the field. Louder than in the living room. When he stopped, the others looked like they were considering it.

Derek dryly interrupted. “Maybe we should see how the new stuff sounds first.”

 

Life returned to almost normal after that. With the glorious addition of Derek time, whether in text form or in person. He moved back to his apartment a few days after the band practice, making Stiles come help carry stuff. It wasn’t like there was much to carry – a few bags of clothes really. It was when Stiles saw Derek’s massive TV and his sadly neglected – it wasn’t even hooked up – DVD player.

“I never got round to it,” Derek said, apologetically. “I was thinking we could watch something. Get some dinner. Like you-“ Derek swallowed. “Like you said.”

“I’m reading this as you making a decision,” Stiles said, settling into the sofa. “What we eating?”

“Pizza?” Derek was still struggling to move easily but he lowered himself down beside Stiles and held out his hand for Stiles to pass his phone to him. He took his time dialing and ordering before he responded. “I haven’t not decided. I’m still thinking. I’m still worried that they haven’t caught whoever’s after you.” Derek scrubbed his hands on his sweat pants before looking up at Stiles, his face plainly honest. “I still want to wait.”

“I can wait.” Stiles held eye contact until it got too weird. “Now, let’s see if I can get this beauty all hooked up.”

 

A text was waiting for him when he got out of the shower the next morning. _Are you my chauffeur now?_

Stiles was running late and he was driving himself again and couldn’t use the time to carry on one of Derek and his epic text conversations. So he took a deep breath and pressed the call button. Derek answered straight away. “I could be. Are you getting me a uniform?”

“One of those hats? It would hide your haircut then.” Derek thought he was so funny. “But, seriously.”

“Depends. You don’t want me to cut school? Cause I could be up for that.” Stiles struggled into his plaid over-shirt one handed, switching the phone mid sleeve. “Wait. Do you want me to get your groceries? I’m not such a fan of that.”

“No. No skipping. There’s a friend of mine playing in a band and I want to go and you could come too.” Derek was probably aiming for begrudging but it was a little bit too plaintive for that. Stiles grinned and tried to get his feet into his sneakers while he tried to work out how to respond.

Eventually he settled on, “You have friends?”

“Fuck you, Stilinski.” Derek didn’t sound angry at all. “Tonight. Can you pick me up at eight? You should ask your dad.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Stiles snagged his backpack and thundered down the staircase. “I’ll go ask now.”

Derek hung up without saying any kind of goodbye. Typical and not entirely unexpected. They were never going to be the type of couple who had to spend hours promising the other that they should hang up first, no you. Stiles swung past the kitchen, where his dad was flicking through the paper.

“Going to a band with Derek tonight.” He waved and fled the house, pretending not to hear his dad call his name behind him. His phone buzzed and he checked it while he waited at the single stop light between the house and school.

_Enjoy school. Goodbye._

 

It was his inability to stop his knee bouncing that made Erica drag him into the empty practice room at lunch and force him to sit on the piano stool. “Spill, Stilinski.”

“Spill? Spill what?” Stiles tried to look innocent but it worked just as about as well as when he tried it on his dad. She just glared at him and folded her arms. Suddenly the urge to speak, to tell someone everything made Stiles break. “It’s Derek.”

“What’s Derek? Your epic crush on him?” Erica snorted but relaxed her posture and slumped down into the chair in the corner of the room. 

Stiles should have known she’d have noticed. “Yeah. Well, so, I’m kinda going on a date with him. But not. I’m driving him to see a band. And we kinda kissed and-“

“Stop.” Erica held up her hand. “Start at the beginning. And give me details. All the details.” Erica leaned forward, a little threateningly, and Stiles cracked. He explained everything – the weird death threat, Derek’s protection, the “kiss” (he might have fudged that one a little. Erica was way too interested) and then his current predicament.

“I don’t know what to wear.” Stiles planted his burning face in his hands and waited for his doom.

Erica laughed at him. She took a long time to stop laughing at him. Stiles stared at her, perplexed, which only made her laugh even harder until there were tears threatening her mascara. “Okay,” she gasped, when she finally had breath. “I’ll help you.”

“What?” 

 

Oddly enough, telling Erica (and swearing her to secrecy) had ensured that Stiles felt calm and collected as he pulled into Derek’s lot. She’d dressed him, as well. Nothing too fancy or too not-Stiles, which he’d been worried about. She’d made him wear his newest jeans and a shirt that buttoned up all the way. She’d worked something into his hair and joked about threatening him with guyliner. Then she’d apparently vanished to the kitchen to grab cookies and flirt with his dad which he did not want to think about.

Stiles’s hands were sweaty still as he headed up the stairs and knocked. Derek had made a comment about it being too soon for a key but Stiles reckoned he was regretting it as he listening to Derek swear and fumble to get the door open. He was holding his trumpet case in one hand.

“Is that a good idea?” Stiles asked. He had a flashback to his mom asking him exactly the same question when he’d threatened to eat all his Hallowe’en candy immediately after finishing Trick or Treating one year. 

Derek ignored the question and handed the case over to lock the door behind him. “You look nice.”

“So do you.” Derek was wearing his usual jeans and a Henley that was a fraction too snug. It was a good look on him, one Stiles was admiring from behind. Derek had this really narrow waist, something that wasn’t diminished by the faint lines of the bandages still wrapping his ribs.

“When do you get to go back to work?” Stiles asked, worried that it was going to cut into his platonic Derek leering time. Not so platonic. 

“They’ll let me into the station again next week but it’s desk duty all the way. Filing.” Derek waited for Stiles to catch up and open the jeep for him. There was a moment where they both fought for the door handle, which made Stiles laugh.

They drove in a comfortable silence for about three minutes before Stiles started in with a story about Scott and his now on/off thing with Allison and her dad nearly catching them _in flagrante_. Derek grunted at the appropriate moments, showing he was listening, but he let Stiles fill the silence with inane chatter. It didn’t take long to arrive at the bar in the middle of nowhere (well, there were like three houses around it, on the side of the highway) but the parking lot was pretty full. Stiles tried to run around the car to open the door for Derek but he was met by a pair of drawn down eyebrows as he did. Instead Stiles grabbed the trumpet.

“Will they let me in?” Stiles gnawed on the side of his thumb as he looked at the faintly imposing bouncer. “My fake ID is pretty sucky.”

Derek knocked his hand away. “It’ll be fine. He’s Boyd’s brother.” He wandered over to the bouncer, Stiles trailing in his wake, and did some complicated handshake thing. “This is Stiles,” was how he finished up. “He’s with me.”

“Make sure he drinks nothing stronger than water and they’ll be no problem,” the bouncer replied, after giving Stiles a once-over. “I’m sick of college kids and their shitty fake IDs.”

“He’s driving anyway,” Derek said, towing Stiles past before Stiles could correct the college age assumption.

Inside, the bar was cleaner than Stiles had expected. It was still fairly traditional with the neon beer signs and wood paneling. Made sense for it not to be uber-trendy, what with the fact the usual clientele probably still thought Reagan was in power. It was still pretty empty and Stiles felt pathetic as he trailed along in Derek’s wake.

Derek greeted a guy with a guitar with something approaching a smile and even accepted a hug from a short girl with spiky blonde hair. Then he reached out an arm and pulled Stiles in. Stiles had been hovering, wondering if he should head to the bar or find a table or something. “This is Stiles.”

Stiles half-waved. Derek didn’t elaborate but the others looked him up and down and then he was involved in the conversation. Derek also didn’t let go of him, his hand sliding around to the small of Stiles’s back and resting there. Stiles didn’t fight it. It was kinda like everything he wanted. Especially when Derek started rubbing small circles with his thumb. It made his brain switch to some kind of white fuzz, barely able to keep up with the conversation going on around them. Finally Derek’s friends had to go finish setting up and Derek turned to Stiles.

“You don’t mind?” He kept his voice low.

“Mind? Mind what?” Stiles curled his body close to Derek. There was only so much PDA he could probably get away with, considering that he wasn’t Derek’s actual boyfriend. That they’d made out and, you know, and weren’t officially anything. But it felt nice. It felt right.

“I’m being… Shit. Okay, see Charlie there? He’s prone to pouncing on any attractive young thing that seems even halfway available. And, I guess, that I’m being unfair because I don’t want him to have you. I don’t want anyone else to have you.” Derek’s tone was casual but his eyes were dark and intent. “I’ll back off if you…”

Stiles swayed closer, interrupting. “I don’t want anyone else, Derek. You should probably know that.”

They stayed in their intense, private bubble for a few more moments. Then Derek cracked a soft smile. “Want a drink?”

“Can it have caffeine if it doesn’t have alcohol?” Stiles knew he was whining but Derek didn’t do anything other than shake his head and wander over to the bar. They ended up nursing their drinks in a quite booth with a clear view of the stage. Derek had winced as he’d sat down on a stool at the bar and Stiles had insisted they moved. Derek didn’t complain – much – and when they sat, heads close together to hear over the first band, it felt comfortable.

Near the end of their set – a kind of upbeat, almost country but acoustic bunch of songs – Charlie came up to the mic and waved at Derek. “We got a friend here who plays a mean horn. C’mon, man.”

“At least he didn’t tell me to leave my jailbait,” Derek muttered, as he shuffled out of the booth. He made a face as he straightened but he looked steady as he made his way to the platform that acted as a stage. He didn’t take long to pull out his trumpet and fix the mouthpiece.

“Normally I’d say that the best thing to do with a trumpet player is to use them to clear the room-“ Charlie paused for laughter as Derek glared at him. “But we make an exception here.”

Derek shook his head and brought the instrument up to his lips as the drummer kicked in with a fast beat. Stiles had heard Derek play – he’d played with Derek. But until now he didn’t know how great Derek actually was. He didn’t move much, didn’t wave his instrument about or wriggle his hips or anything. His fingers danced over the valves and his foot tapped in time as he played but it was as if he was dancing a wild jig, the stream of music a crazy, living thing that rolled out of Derek and his trumpet and totally overwhelmed Stiles. He was barely even aware that the rest of the band was playing along.

Derek’s eyes met his towards the end of the song. He’d mainly been looking at some vague point on the floor throughout his playing, his eyelashes almost touching his cheeks. But now he looked straight at Stiles, almost as if he could feel the warmth of Stiles’s gaze, see the bulge in his pants through the cover of the table. Derek finished up the tune with a flourish, his eyes never leaving Stiles’s.

Stiles wanted nothing more than to drag Derek from the bar after he’d finished to a rousing round of applause. He had the sudden and overwhelming urge to blow Derek. It was like a physical need, his mouth watering at the thought. He wanted to pin Derek against the bricks, fall to his knees where anyone could see them and swallow his dick. He could do it. He’d seen Derek’s dick and it would be a bit of a stretch and his jaw would ache so good. But it was suddenly all Stiles wanted to do.

The tips of Derek’s ears were shining faintly in the light above them as he slipped back into the booth. “The set’s almost done. We can head home soon. Hope it’s not too late.”

Stiles stuck his straw in his mouth and sucked vengefully. It was with some pleasure that he noticed the way Derek’s eyes widened slightly, traced the shape of his mouth before guiltily looking back at the band. They wound up pretty shortly afterwards, letting the bar return back to a quiet, soft murmur of chat, the TV filling in the gaps in the conversation. Derek didn’t make a move to talk to his friends who were selling CDs and what looked like vinyl over by the door. Instead he watched Stiles chase ice cubes around his glass with the straw.

The drive back home was silent. Stiles didn’t know what to say anymore.

 

The next Tuesday, Derek suggested take out when they got back to his apartment after practice. They’d played the whole medley through for the first time, almost without stopping. Stiles was still buzzing with the whole accomplishment of something new which meant he didn’t notice the tightness of Derek’s jawline or how pale he’d become under his stubble until they were back indoors.

He knew Derek had been overdoing it.

“Sit.” Stiles pointed at the sofa. The grateful sigh Derek let out said more about the level of pain he was in than the frown he directed at Stiles. “Tonight we eat like adults. There will be vegetables.”

“There’s veg on pizza. Tomatoes.” Derek was grumbling mostly for form’s sake as Stiles raked through the depths of his refrigerator. Despite Derek’s whining it didn’t take long before Stiles had scrabbled together enough for pasta. 

"You shouldn't have been at practice," Stiles said, settling gingerly on the sofa while everything was cooking.

"No." Derek stabbed at the remote.

"You didn't just come for the Bond. Though that was awesome. Did you see how excited everyone was?" Stiles laughed.

"Yeah." A smile flicked across Derek's face but a more serious expression followed, storm clouds after sunshine. "I didn't like the idea of you being out there on your own."

"I was with the band, Derek. Not exactly wandering the Preserve on my lonesome." Stiles faced the TV. He had the sneaking suspicion that if he looked at Derek he'd reveal entirely too much about his feelings. “You don’t like me being on my own, you don’t want other guys to be with me. You’re being a possessive boyfriend without any of the other benefits a boyfriend would bring.”

Stiles didn’t wait for an answer. He pushed himself off the sofa and checked the food, prodding at it with a wooden spoon. Everything looked cooked. Stiles absently listened to the local news as he served up. It was when he was just fussing with the plates that he realized he was stalling. He sucked it up and took the plate over to Derek. “You taken your pills?”

“After food,” Derek said, taking the plate and the offered fork. He waited for Stiles to sit down opposite him again before he took a bite. “It’s good.”

Stiles concentrated on a story about the elementary school roof. Derek huffed out a sigh and then the only noise was the scrape of forks.

“It’s not that I don’t – Fuck.” Stiles scrubbed his free hand through his hair. “I like spending time with you. I want to. I want you. That’s the problem. And I agreed I could wait until graduation. I’d made the decision. We were going to be friends and then you ask me out and you look like that and you’re all possessive and…” Stiles ran out of words and just stared at Derek who was still chewing. And chewing. And struggling to swallow.

Finally Derek managed to choke down the pasta. “We wait. For some…stuff.” He looked torn, not sure what he should be saying or doing. Then he very deliberately placed the plate on the floor, winced as he straightened up and clicked the TV off. “No sex. No touching of dicks. Nothing naked.”

“Yeah?” Stiles’s voice broke a little in the middle. “You sure you can cope?”

“I don’t want to be arrested or, you know, shot by your dad.” Derek shifted closer to Stiles, wincing a little. Realizing he still had his plate in his hand, Stiles dumped it onto the floor and threw himself across Derek’s lap. He didn’t really want to stumble through anymore awkward conversation.

“I’m going to kiss you, right? That’s okay?” Stiles didn’t wait for an answer. He took the fact Derek tilted his head to the side as permission and dived in. There was a moment where the press of lips was too hard, too desperate but then Stiles pulled back, lips slick and mouth soft and just kissed. One of Derek’s hands was on the back of his head and the other on his hip, holding him steady. Stiles had his hands in Derek’s hair, on Derek’s neck, his jaw, his shoulders. 

The kiss slowed, became almost chaste, soft presses of mouth and lips, noses bumping. Stiles could feel Derek smiling and he knew he was too. He reluctantly sat back, his hands fisted in Derek’s t-shirt. “Now, finish your dinner, take your pills and stop doing so much.”

Derek hauled him in for another kiss first. The pasta was stone cold by the time they got back to it.

 

Derek going back to work put a cramp in the amount of hanging out and making out but there was still the problem of whoever had driven an SUV into Derek’s Camaro and tried to kill them. It meant that his dad was pretty focused on Stiles staying with Scott or Derek when he wasn’t around. No Stiles alone time. Stiles was actually pretty sure this was what having a social life looked like.

Band practice turned serious too. Lydia took over when Derek couldn’t be there, muttering about not wanting to be embarrassed. They played the tunes over and over, marched through the choreography, both without instruments and playing. It was relentless. But everyone knew practice made perfect, which was what Stiles told himself when he couldn’t resist touching Derek, kissing him. It was the perfect excuse for just about all the times he slung himself across Derek’s lap in the middle of dinner or a movie or just because Derek was sitting there. The way he felt when Derek responded made all his worries seem manageable.

 

Championship day was thankfully a typical north California day: sunny, light breeze. Stiles grinned as he ran his polishing cloth over the top of his sousaphone one more time. This was going to be the last time he did this and there was something that should be sad about that. And maybe he should feel a bit upset. But most of his energy was focused on being worried about everything turning out okay and being a little relieved that this was almost over. It was one more step closer to graduation and, you know, everything that was going to bring.

Stiles was kinda ready for it all. 

Scott was in some kind of infectiously happy mood too, almost bouncing like the puppy he was until Erica threatened to stab him with one of Isaac’s drumsticks. And then Lydia was marching up and down their ranks, making sure everyone’s outfits were straight and tidy.

There were going to be three matches – the other two closest high schools joining there’s – and their marching bands would play between the first and the second. Beacon Hills, as host, had to wait until in between the second and third. Then they’d play again at the end while everyone left, everyone all together. So there was a whole lot of sitting around in their band uniforms and trying not to muss them too badly. Derek didn’t have to wear a dorky uniform. Nope. He was looking ridiculously sexy in his black jeans and a black t-shirt and his muscles.

He sat beside Stiles, up on the back row of the bleachers. They just sat together, occasionally making snarky comments about the plays and cheering the goals. Stiles’s dad clambered up to sit with them for a bit. He was in his uniform and technically on patrol. Stiles shifted a little further away from Derek when his dad joined them and he spent a lot of time explaining why his dad shouldn’t eat the hot dogs to distract him from the fact that Derek was even sitting there. Even though they were being totally innocent.

They hadn’t been quite so innocent when Derek had come to pick him up. That was the other advantage of being all healed and pronounced fit – no more Stiles the Chauffeur. Derek’s car was all kinds of more reliable than the jeep. Derek had slipped into the house when Stiles had opened the door and pressed Stiles back against it and kissed him, extensively, to “Get us through the day.” Stiles wasn’t sure that was going to do it. He’d had his hands up under the back of Derek’s t-shirt, dipping his fingertips under the waistband of Derek’s jeans before Derek had pulled away and grabbed Stiles’s instrument case.

And that was basically all he could think about while his dad yelled at the referee about penalties. 

The other bands played it pretty safe. _Gangnam Style_ was so over and the One Direction was kinda cringeworthy. Stiles knew they had in it the bag when one of the sax players from St Jude’s tripped over and face planted, causing a bit of a pile up. Nothing was going to stop them after that.

They marched out crisply onto the field and Stiles felt the crowd cheer rather than heard it. It didn’t hurt that Beacon Hills had just smashed Heatherfield Academy to smithereens. Derek had slipped away while they were getting tuned up at the side of the field and they lined up without him. Then Stiles had to watch his boyfriend walk across the field in a fucking tuxedo and take his place in front of the band. Derek caught his eyes and nodded, slightly, before he raised his hands to signal readiness.

Derek’s endless drills paid off and they wheeled closely around in a spiral during _Stars and Stripes Forever_ , the crowd whistling and clapping along. They settled into a looser formation for their slower piece. It had been Allison who suggested _Somewhere Over the Rainbow_ for all it was a musical song. It kept Coach onside anyway. The crowd was gratifyingly quiet as Lydia’s clarinet soared into the clear blue sky. It was one of those spine-tingling moments. There were times when he felt like he was more than just playing his instrument, when he felt like he was really part of something bigger. 

Then it was time. The band used the time the crowd spent cheering to march into a diamond formation then they all looked at Derek who drew in a shaky breath. One of the lacrosse players ran over with his trumpet and Derek took it, absently fingering the first notes as he looked around at the players. Stiles knew exactly what he was thinking but Stiles just shook his head when Derek caught his eye. They had this. They’d practiced enough. 

Afterwards, Stiles couldn’t even remember playing. He knew he’d seen his dad in the crowd, leaning forward in his seat, as Stiles dipped and wove around the tuba player. Scott had more cool moves but it was easier to be awesome when you had a huge slide thingy. Derek’s trumpet rung out above them all as Isaac and Boyd kept them right with the timing shifts. Stiles definitely remembered the crowd jumping to their feet as they let the notes die away. Even Derek was grinning. 

Stiles attempted a clumsy bow inside his sousaphone, tipping over, laughing at himself. It probably saved him from the gunshot that cracked across the field. Stiles felt like someone had tugged at the horn of the instrument, jerking him backwards. He looked up to see that his sousaphone looked weirdly twisted before he realized what had happened. Stiles tipped forward, banging his head on the ground, as the screams started and the band scattered. 

Stiles tried to see what was happening as he wriggled out of the sousaphone. There was another crack from the gun and the grass in front of Stiles exploded in a shower of dirt. He was spitting it out of his mouth when he saw his dad was on his feet pushing his way down through the bleachers, gun held by his side. Derek was the next person Stiles looked for. He was sprinting across the field, in full sight of a blonde woman who had her arms raised in a firing position. Another bullet slammed into the ground and Stiles tried to scramble upright. The next one was even closer, grazing his arm. Stiles felt like someone had sliced a red hot knife across his upper arm and he curled into a ball on the ground, trying not to let out a scream.

Someone grabbed at his arm and Stiles gave up trying to be brave, letting out a screech. Scott was trying to get him to his feet, get him to run. But the only thing Stiles was paying any attention to was Derek who was throwing himself at the woman, tux and all. They crashed to the ground and Stiles could see Derek struggling. His heart was pounding – it was he could hear, a loud frantic humming it was so fast – as Derek rolled to and fro. Then he rose up, tossed the gun to the side and held whoever it was fast on the ground as Stiles’s dad ran over, pulling the handcuffs from his belt.

Slowly the world settled into a normal pace again and Stiles stopped feeling like his heart was going to pound out of his chest. Another EMT was bandaging up his arm while ambulances screamed up to the pitch to deal with the various cuts and sprains the crowd had sustained. No one else had been shot though. Stiles was getting to deal with that particular fame (infamy. They’ve got it infamy…) when he got back to school on Monday.

Derek finally got free from whatever he’d been doing and came over. He was still in his rumpled tux, a bruise swelling on his cheekbone. He had his tie loose around his neck and the top button on his shirt popped. He didn’t bother being subtle or cautious or any of the other things Stiles worried about. Instead he cupped Stiles’s face, searching it for signs of injury.

“I’m fine, dude.” Stiles barely got the words out before Derek was kissing him, a little desperate. Using his uninjured hand, Stiles dragged Derek closer, unwilling to let go. Derek didn’t resist, crowding against Stiles. They were only broken apart by his dad coughing in that I’m-hiding-a-laugh way.

“Derek? You should probably head to the station and give your statement. I think Stiles has to go to the hospital. Again.” His dad shook his head. “You okay, son?”

Stiles nodded, gave Derek a quick squeeze and stepped back. His dad hugged him close for a moment before he pointed him sternly in the direction of the ambulance. Stiles grumbled as he went before Scott came jogging up. He’d changed out of his band uniform and had Stiles’s backpack in his hand. “Can I go with him?”

The EMT looked to the Sheriff who just shrugged. “I’m saying yes,” Stiles put in. He knew how dull sitting around hospitals was. There would be tests and stitches. “Scott’s mom’s at the hospital anyway.”

 

Stiles was right. The hospital was boring. Scott had headed off to find his mom and reassure her he was fine. He was stuck in a bed in a side room and he could hear the feet going up and down the corridor outside but no one came in to see him after he’d been checked over once and given some really nice drugs. Pain was not good. Lack of pain and the loopy feeling behind his eyelids was definitely an improvement.

But he was bored.

In the end, he stumbled out of the bed and fished around in his backpack for his phone. He could play endless rounds of Angry Birds or something. When he switched it on, he had texts upon texts. He knew there were rules about phones and hospitals but he could definitely blame everything on the drugs as he scrolled through them. Someone might know who had shot at him after all.

He texted Derek. He was weak and he knew it. _Hospital is dullllll. When you coming to get me?_

 _Soon._ Derek texted back almost immediately. Then, _We need to talk._.

That made Stiles worry. Maybe his dad had said something? In the end, the nurse bustling into his room meant the end of Stiles being able to text and the phone was once more switched off and stashed in the bottom of his backpack. He had a neat row of stitches and a pristine white bandage to keep from getting wet over the next few days and another half hour wait before Scott showed up again to keep him company. At least Scott brought food, even if it was just cookies. It had been a long time since those hot dogs at the game.

Derek came past an hour later, just as Stiles was starting to make noises about being released. He was sure he was developing cabin fever. Scott had actually dropped off for a nap. The nurse had explained that the reason he wasn’t being kicked out had something to do with his prescription interacting with the new medication and Stiles kinda tuned him out after that. Maybe he was high. He’d never been high before.

He went into a happy place imagining getting high with Derek. They could, like, shotgun the weed. Or whatever.

It was his dad who picked him up. “Derek’s still answering questions at the station.”

“He didn’t shoot me. He wouldn’t.” Stiles could feel the good drugs wearing off along with the hefty dose of adrenaline and all he wanted to do was sleep. “Why is he being questioned?”

“The woman who shot you was his ex-girlfriend.” Stiles’s dad kept his eyes on the road as he spoke.

Stiles ran that through his head. “I thought she was in an institution? Derek said something about her, before.” 

“He told you about that?” His dad sounded surprised. “He seemed a little…worried about how you might take it.”

“Yeah. Well. No.” Stiles knew he wasn’t making much sense but it was too much effort to let out anything other than monosyllables and an enormous yawn.

 

Derek was still in his tuxedo when he shook Stiles awake later. “Hey.”

Stiles took a while to blink his eyes open. He hurt a lot more now. “I got shot,” he said, plaintively.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Derek settled on the edge of his bed and Stiles flailed his hand about until Derek took pity on him and took it. Stiles immediately entwined their fingers. “It was Kate.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” Stiles spoke around another yawn. He scrubbed at his teeth with his tongue. “What time is it?”

“Just past two. I wanted to see you.” Derek squeezed Stiles’s hand gently. “She was after me, originally. Then she saw us and shifted her focus.” Derek shook his head, his mouth twisted in a grimace. He squeezed Stiles’s hand and started to let go.

“Yeah. But she’s to blame.” Stiles didn’t want to argue and he was too tired. He raked his eyes over Derek, now tieless entirely. “I can’t believe you wore a tux.”

Derek shook his head. “Had to. We did Bond.”

“You are totally Bond. You also did the mad, crazy running thing and saved me. Looking hot doing it.” Stiles pulled at Derek’s hand, trying to make him lie down. “Now come sleep.”

Derek gently tugged his hand free and stood up. Stiles let out a noise he knew was pathetic but Derek didn’t leave the room. Instead he started undressing, unbuttoning his shirt and kicking off his shoes. He ended up in a t-shirt and boxers. Then he closed the door and flicked off the bedside light before easing the covers up off Stiles and sliding into bed. “I don’t think your dad would like this.”

“I’m eighteen and I’m in love and he knows that,” Stiles said, snuggling back into Derek’s body. That was the last thing he remembered saying.

 

Graduation day finally came. Stiles was convinced it was at least a week, maybe a month, overdue. He was ready and patience wasn’t his strong suit. He’d sat his finals, he’d skipped class when finals were done, he’d gone back to class when both his father and his boyfriend had found him and his classmates sneaking around the preserve.

He’d even gone to Prom. Derek had showed up in his tux and pointed Stiles at the shower and hadn’t taken no for an answer. It was a conspiracy as, when he’d emerged, his dad had pounced with a camera and reservations for dinner. Stiles didn’t mind, really. He’d come to realize that he had to enjoy these big moments, because you never knew when someone with a shotgun was going to show up. The others laughed at his pontificating and made him dance. Derek didn’t dance. Instead he’d sat and watched Stiles and no one else. 

And now graduation. Which was good. Because Stiles was about to come out of his skin with sheer want. But he reminded himself that he needed to go through the ceremony first, get his diploma. And, because of the debacle at the game (debacle was an awesome word), the band were marching one last time. They probably would have played anyway but the principal was making a big deal out of it.

Derek was there, just in a suit this time, as he conducted them through their medley. They finished up with the Sousa this time, making everyone cheer. Then Stiles had to scramble out of his borrowed sousaphone and get into his graduation gown. It was just as well his name began with an S. He marched across the stage to the mangling of his actual name, grabbed his certificate and huzzah, he was an adult.

There were a blur of photographs and hugs and hat tossing and then his dad was hauling him in for one final bear hug. He clung close and Stiles could feel the missing presence beside them. “I wish…” His dad’s voice cut off.

“I wish she was here too.” Stiles leaned against his dad. The crowd was clearing now, people heading off to family dinners or parties or whatever. Stiles had none of that planned. “Can you believe I made it this far?”

“Never doubted it,” his dad said, loyally. “Okay, I’ve got to get into work now.” His dad hugged him for another couple of minutes before he patted Stiles on the back and headed off to the cruiser.

Stiles watched him go. Derek came to hover beside him. “You ready to head out?”

“Yeah. So what’s the plan? Caviar? Champagne?” Stiles leaned close. “Kisses?”

Derek just raised an eyebrow. “Maybe.”

“I’m damned if all I’m getting is kisses.” Stiles wrapped himself around Derek, pulling him close, his mouth already parted. Derek held back for a moment before dipping forward and giving Stiles what he wanted.

Stiles sighed satisfied when Derek finally let him go. Then Stiles grinned. “Am I going to show you what else my well-honed breath control is good for?” 

Derek’s voice was rather ragged when he pulled out of the kiss for that one. “Yeah, for sure.”

 

His graduation celebration didn’t even wait for food. Instead his clothes made a pathway from Derek’s front door to his bedroom. Derek hadn’t waited either, too busy pulling off Stiles’s clothes, dumping his own, before pinning Stiles to the wall beside the door and falling to his knees. It turned out all that trumpet playing gave Derek all kinds of skills.

Derek let him return the favor, legs splayed wide for Stiles to kneel between them, fondle his balls, let his hands roam across those perfect abs. Stiles was tempted to pull back, let Derek wait, but he knew that this was only the first time. Of many. He had nothing to do all summer after all.

Derek hauled him up to kiss the taste of come from Stiles’s mouth. “Me too,” he whispered, into the air they were sharing.

“Me too what?” Stiles asked, not really listening. He was already starting to get hard again.

“I’m in love too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm now [dedougal](http://dedougal.tumblr.com/) on tumblr as well.


End file.
